The Love Thieves
by saturdaynightwrists
Summary: Love needs its martyrs, needs its sacrifices. (femslash / partial rule 63 / sensitive themes / x-posted from Ao3)
1. shake the disease

_2014_

Is it possible to simultaneously long for a sound in the deepest part of your soul, while still being so incensed that you never want to hear it again? The alkaline taste of bile creeps up the back of your throat just seconds after your stomach flips; blood pressure dropping so fast in a body still so fragile in recovery, the sides of your vision go dark and starry for a moment. Your hands seek stability at the edge of your desk, knuckles pushing white through your skin in contrast with the cherrywood, but you don't dare let any other weakness show. You've become an expert at hiding from her, evading her, or so you've wanted to think.

"Sachi."

Her voice is flat. The saccharine, dripping tone that took it over... as _they_ changed her, it's gone. It's only her, now. And the nickname you haven't heard since before, oh, it's like you're a skein of yarn and your center is being pulled out of you, unraveling you from the inside, slowly. You don't know when, but if just hearing your name shakes you this badly, it's guaranteed that you'll soon collapse in on yourself. You hate it. But, _oh_ , you love it.

"It's been so—"

"Long." You mouth, finishing her sentence silently; you know (oh, you _know_ ) that her eyes are trained on the way your lips move, regardless of whether or not her hearing is still augmented from the parasites dying off within her.

 _1985_

You tilt your head in amusement as she slides the frames up and down your nose, watching intently as your eyes grow and shrink through the lenses, letting out the tiniest little snort of laughter. Hers are so alive, icy blue, rimmed with lashes so dense and soft she doesn't need to coat them in mascara for definition. She's stunning. She knows it, and she knows you know. And you don't mind that one bit, no. Because she makes you feel every bit as stunning as she, with the way she speaks of you, the way she looks at you, eyebrows upturned in bliss as though she's never seen anything lovelier in her life.

Just how you'd gone so far though this world without so much as knowing more than her name and her status, you don't know- and to think, you'd wanted to stay home from that fateful extended-family function, and bellyache over some mediocre period cramps. Aiko was already "borrowing" the shoes you'd wanted to wear, the ones with enough lift to make you feel a little better about your inconveniently petite stature. And to top it all off, you'd trimmed your bangs that morning just a tad lopsidedly, but too short to risk an attempt at evening them out any more.

If you'd stayed in against your mother's firm insistence, you'd have never wandered out to that particular balcony to find _her_ scowling in the moonlight, her patchy, studded leather jacket a contrast to the high-end gown beneath it; never found yourself suddenly jealous of the cigarette that she brought to her lips, carried exquisitely between slender fingers. She wasn't even trying, and you were smitten on the spot.

Of course, you'd never have expected her to take such a strong and genuine liking to _you_. She was equally as unhappy with being forced to make an appearance at this event, and didn't seem to have a shred of regard to who saw her blatant attitude about it. If you didn't know better now, you'd assume that Kiryuin Ragyo didn't fear a soul on this planet.

But she turned to you, and she'd known your name. For the rest of the evening, her eyes softened, and the scowl melted into something a little more tender, personal. Yours alone. The relief in the air was sudden, tangible, and mutual.

In the weeks that passed, you found you'd made a very powerful friend, but more importantly, you'd made a _good_ friend. A best friend. Even that didn't fully encompass what you felt, but every time you try and pick the feeling apart, a horde of butterflies—no, a flock of white-winged doves takes flight in your stomach, just as bright and beautiful as she.

She plucks the frames from your face and puts them on her own, and you bite your lip without thinking, watching her eyes move from behind the lenses. Through mild blurriness now that you've been robbed of your visual assistance, the amused look on her face suddenly transitions into something more intent.

"You'll give yourself a headache, Ragyo. I'm telling you, those are crazy strong."

It takes you a moment to realize what she's focusing on, and a moment more to let yourself believe it.

"Oh, Sach. Let me live and learn, why don't you. Let me make my own mistakes."

Her hand is on your cheek, and you feel the urge to reach out and caress hers in kind, the angle of her jaw fitting perfectly in your palm, a dangly earring tapping against the backs of your fingertips. Her skin here is so soft, feverish… your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip and the air that comes out of your lungs feels so thick.

"Would you… call this a mistake yet to be made?" you breathe, stilling as her pulse beats against your fingertips, quick and steady. You gently, _so_ gently, to clarify how terribly you don't _want_ this to be a mistake for her.

"Oh, no. Of this here…" she whispers as her thumb brushes over your bottom lip and you feel your whole body flush hot. She lingers, as though mulling over her word choice, eyes flicking back between your lips and your eyes. Finally, she speaks, leaning in further so you feel her breath right against your lips; so close and quiet that her answer would be inaudible to anyone but you.

"Of you, Mikisugi Sachiko, I'm beyond certain."

You press your lips to hers, and feel the world dim to a comfortable static around you. All is Ragyo. All is right.

 _2014_

" _Ragyo._ "

With a deceptively steady finger (still cold with poor circulation) you push the silver frames back up the bridge of your nose, turning your head and letting her come into focus. Your intestines still feel as though they're being knitted together, but you aren't afraid. She's still captivating as ever, in a way that even rematerializing from wisps and falling from space couldn't compromise—but with her bruised body and wind-singed hair, simply put: she's a mess. And with the look on her face, she's... broken.

Her eyes are wet, bloodshot, ringed with shadows of fatigue; and you can relate: cheating death is an exhausting process. Though you didn't really have the help of alien parasites the way she did; just your hyper-vigilant sister who kept you hidden away for months in a medically-induced coma while your body repaired itself, and maintained your carefully-engineered system of lies to keep your daughters protected from the truth.

You really don't know what you were thinking—you'd thought you were making sacrifices in the name of justice. In hindsight you realize you didn't have a clue, and "justice" was the furthest thing from what your efforts achieved, at least for the ones whom you should have protected over anything else. Of all things making your heart ache, your burden of guilt to Satsuki and Ryuko is by far the heaviest, most painful to bear.

She is the second, though. All the hatred you couldn't fully commit to because you wanted to believe, somewhere within her, your wife still remained. Your partner, the best friend you'd ever had, the woman you'd yearned for in memory, silently for so long, never really ready to let go. You know as you turn to look her in the eyes, you weren't holding out for nothing. Her words echo between your ears, preserved in your memory for nearly a quarter of a century.

 _"Don't let me succumb to this. Please, Sachi… I can't become another link in the chain."_

You failed her.

For the first time in 20 years, blue meets blue again.

 _New Year's Day, 1988_

Congealed, once-crimson puddles crusted over the leather of her backseat from where you'd lain the night before, holding on as each beat of your heart drove searing pain through everything your veins could split out and reach. She'd driven through the pouring rain with such skill, but maybe you didn't notice the sharp turns that made the whole car lurch side to side and hydroplane because you could only concentrate on the one thing she was begging you to do in that choked voice: _stay with her_.

Even among the institutions that weren't already nestled within your family's deep, deep pockets, you couldn't seek medical attention. To do so would've exposed this horrid secret, exposed you for what you prayed you weren't becoming after having _this_ crime be committed against your body by your own flesh and blood. Parasitic. Unnatural. One pair of cold hands taking away your agency and dignity was more than enough for a lifetime; to be at the mercy of dozens more and analyzed like some specimen? You would rather end yourself once and for all, in a way that made sure you couldn't be salvaged for autopsy. After patiently fighting for nearly 2 decades at the chance to not live and die at the mercy of another, just to have it all laid to ruin… and you can't, you can't be taken away from your Sachi. They can't keep you away from your one light at the end of the tunnel.

Dark circles sit beneath her eyes, lids heavy and half-down as she lets the car stall outside the manor, holding a deceptively tight grip on your hand in both of hers. An angel on the brink of exhaustion, but no less beautiful for it. Her breath shakes as she exhales and keeps her gaze fixed on you.

"Sachiko, I…" you pause, voice more difficult to conjure than you'd expected. At a moment's notice, she'd known what to do to save your life. You didn't have to explain when she came over and packed you into her car, taken you home and put you back together. Your throat is tight with anxiety that you can't express to anyone but her, and you know you don't have to. You know what she knows.

She doesn't want you to go back. You have to go back. _Just to quell suspicions for a bit,_ you'd told her weakly. Mother had already commented more than enough on how much time you spent with your dearest cousin through the years, and your most terrible fear by far was that she'd turn her wrath towards her as a result. Blood meant little to her, as she'd proven time and time again; even moreso on branches of the family tree that she'd often expressed desire to prune. But if she so much as touches Sachiko, your plans to destroy her will become much, much less merciful. Mother can hurt you all she wants and it will be swift and just, but if she hurts _yours_ … even now you feel a monstrous desire foaming up within you, the need; the mental picture of her oozing blood, muscle and sinew sliced, twitching, spilling upon the bright white marble floor of your home– you've always been vicious, but your mind's never concocted such specific imagery at such short notice… almost as if the thought isn't entirely your own. Are you already becoming the monster she tried to make of you last night?

"I was so scared, Ragyo... I was going to lose you, I thought…" Sachiko cracks at the last syllable of your name and goes silent, cheeks tensing as she swallows. You're so ashamed, holding her gaze feels about as painful as staring directly into a floodlamp. Your voice is grave, its usual cheeky lilt totally absent.

"Sachi." you swallow, a dry click emanating from the back of your throat. Her name comes easy, perhaps it's the easiest sound you could make in any situation (your tongue was made for her, you know this). However, you can't work any words out for her to truly explain, even just putting them together in your mind incites a stirring of deep dread in your belly.

 _Oh, dearest mine. Physical trauma and mutilation couldn't even hope to pry me apart from you so easily._

The only way she'll lose you is if you lose yourself too. And if... _if_ , not _when_ that happens, you know beyond doubt that she'll _want_ to be rid of you.


	2. enjoy the silence

_2014_

Flings are but a thing of myth, you should've known better. Maybe you did, and just decided to do as you pleased regardless. It was your first foray into that sort of thing, and you'd leapt without reservations, not knowing that it wouldn't be so simple as just sleeping with your rival. Does it matter? Not now. Not anymore. It's so, so much bigger than that.

You'd summoned Matoi to your quarters on an evening that seems like it happened in another era, another universe; promising that it would be a one-off, and she was all too eager to participate. Tasting, feeling her, letting her race you to the edge and back for seconds not just once, but on two separate occasions before your final plan was set into action…

And then, finding out the truth that tied you together.

It would've been impossible to bury in the past, never speak of it again, not call to mind the beautiful feelings she evoked in both your body and soul.

So you'd gone and done it again, knowing full well the truth that lay between you. When you start something, it cannot be left halfway. And this business, in your heart, will never _not_ be unfinished.

If it were truly a fling, you would've been just physical. Fucking. All along, even the first time; you'd never really been "fucking Matoi," not in that pure unattached sense. Not "Matoi" in all the impersonality that you addressed her on the battlefield, and not just fucking as though you were actually capable of feeling those things completely divorced from any emotional connection or bond. No, no, you were… you were definitely making love to Ryuko all along, no matter how rough-and-tumble it ever started out.

You love her so much, perhaps too much for your own good. That's the only reason that aligns with the facts. You try to look at it objectively and see yourself as a needy, lovesick mess; bordering on codependency. Even being apart from her for more than a couple of hours at a time puts a strain on your heart—how did you manage a whole childhood and adolescence without so much as knowing her? _Painfully_ , your soul answers back to you, as if it even needed saying.

You could never do this with anybody else, and you like it that way.

* * *

 _I'm home._

Time passes, although you don't have any gauge of how much besides the moon creeping its way across the night sky. One by one, you can feel and hear members of the crowd beneath and around you as they shift and wriggle, getting up to begin the process of starting all over again.

You both could hear the whispers of concern, sounds that feel like questions and answers, but you can't focus your ear to make out the individual words. The buzz of people grows dull as they leave in groups, even the most persistent voices of reason eventually accepting that neither you nor your sister can be moved, and that there's no use trying. You're the two strongest-willed women on the planet. You aren't leaving this spot until you are both good and ready.

How long is too long?

 _Eighteen years._

It's too hard to think, too hard to care about what anyone else thinks either. Even when there's nothing beneath your naked body but the dusty earth, long after the last of your friends have vacated this crater you caused, she remains. Her eyes won't leave yours and you have no desire to look away from hers, not even for a moment, no matter how heavy your lids are.

Shaky hands meet, clutch one another; graze over each other's bodies until ghosts of touches become full-on caresses and you're lying within the intersection of a venn diagram: "too real" and "surreal."

She's exactly everything that you never knew you wanted, and tonight, there was a frightening possibility that you might never see daylight together again.

You both bolt for each other's lips long after the final chatter can be heard in the distance, mutually unhesitant. _Need to make sure. Need to know you're here, you're real, alive, mine…_ Dry earth turns to mud beneath you, not only from the tears you're shedding.

If your first encounter was mischievous, playful; and your second somberly desperate, your third solemn in unity at the task that awaited you in the coming hours and threw everything you knew and loved into jeopardy… all of those had the undercurrent of stress and uncertainty running beneath the surface; a riptide just waiting to catch you unaware and jerk you away.

You're safe now, and the dam has been broken. The waves are flowing freely, gently tossing you back and forth, rolling and breaking within you but now your feet are planted firmly on the sea floor. And damn, it's all so _wet_.

You're in awe that you can touch her, when just hours before you'd been contemplating whether you'd ever get to again. But she's here, warm and vibrant and bruised and dirty, face streaked with blood and tears and ash, and she feels different. Like already her body has recognized that its primary cause of fear and harm has been eliminated, even if the truth hasn't sunk in to her conscious mind yet in full. Her bones and muscles already know. Her hips know, too, and they clearly want to tell yours.

She's night and day, but even so she's all the same. All Satsuki. And you can't feel a thing but adoration in your heart for her. Dumb, stupid, all-encompassing love, but it's so damn logical allthewhile.

It drowns out every anxiety that tries to linger, any worrisome protest of logic or social acceptability. Since when have you ever had one solitary fuck to give about what anyone else thought you to be? Growing up more or less openly gay, _and_ being a chronic loner taught you so many lessons, namely that those who mind don't matter. After a certain point, you didn't even try to win Mom's respect and attention; maybe the one person you should've cared to appease, but… no, you've done your grieving. Your vengeance has been sought and there's nothing more to bother with sorting—all you want to do from here on out is move on. Together. With this beautiful, impossibly strong, irreplaceable soul next to you that you're now so proud to call your sister. All yours... your very own.

 _Welcome home._

* * *

 _10 Days Later_

"This should go down easy." She hands you a shallow bowl full of egg mixed with bread chunks she's ripped up by hand. "Nice n' bland, but not _bad_ bland, you know? Eggy."

"Eggy." You repeat weakly, your grip on the bowl a great deal better than it was a week ago.

"H-Hey, don't feel bad if you still need me to… help?" she makes a motion with her fingers, bringing one hand up to her mouth like she's eating, and you glance down. A thumb presses against your forehead a moment later, softly kneading out the tension that you hadn't realized had worked its way between your brows. It's not your own, but it may as well have been; you don't flinch, as though you were expecting it. Like how you can't tickle yourself, the touch isn't foreign. It melts into your skin, warm and understanding. _You belong here._

Your body aches, but the stress has melted away. So long as you stay here, safe, in this cocoon of care and soft attention from your sister. Even if your wrists have reduced your dexterity so much that you may as well be wearing oversized mittens. Once you grit your teeth past the shame of being hand-fed, you admit that it is a little bit nice to be tended to... especially by someone so lovely.

It's shameful. You never wanted to take a self-pitying attitude, and if you dwell on it your stomach begins to turn—but having her at arm's reach has you happier than you ever remember feeling. Happier than when Mother (the one you grieved) would lift you up and twirl you in the air, her butterscotch voice singing old songs to you, songs she liked; bringing you down and kissing your cheeks over and over. Her tender smile burned in your memory, her eyes full of adoration as they looked up at you.

Once you heard one on the radio in passing and the burst of nostalgic grief was so strong, you had to claw your fingernails into your arm to distract from the pain before Mother (the one you detested) would notice your slip in composure. 13 years you feigned indifference. 13 years you held back your tears, so that there wouldn't even be any to wipe away.

You were her firstborn, and she loved you. You were her baby, and she had to run from you, lie to you, _be rid of you_ —

"Neesan!" fingers slip into your palm, her raspy whisper ripping you from your thoughts. You swallow and look up into familiar eyes, shaped just like those from your memory, full of even more concern than you could ever remember in hers. Your heart slows from its rapid pace that you hadn't even noticed had picked up.

"Hm—" you answer, clearing your throat.

"Stay with me," She squeezes, sliding against your sweaty hand. "You're gettin' that glazed over look in your eyes again. Don't start goin' inwards on me, yeah?"

You lack even the minimal energy to argue with her on this point, but the only person you've never been able to fool. Shrugging your shoulders still hurts, but it's a luxury you weren't afforded for 31 days too many.

"It _is_ important." She grumbles, reading the shrug even though you barely moved. "C'mon."

You don't feel much like talking and she doesn't press you to, but if you're going to speak about anything, she'll be the first and only who gets to hear. Your stomach slowly unwrings, and her hand combs your bangs back away from your face, wiping the cold sweat from your forehead and swiping it on the bunched-up sheet beside you.

"It's gonna be fine now, neesan. You've got a near-indestructible alien weirdo lookin' out for you and she loves you to death, remember? No one's gonna hurt you anymore and god help anybody dumb enough to try…"

Shame blooms continuously through your chest, red hot beneath your skin and you hope she doesn't notice but you know that she knows; she knows you're so prideful on being able to protect yourself. You've told her every loss was calculated, every sacrifice was planned, every pain you went through was intentional; _you meant to do that_ , but she never bought it for a moment.

"She's not around." Ryuko sets your bowl aside and slips in behind you. Your body relaxes into her embrace of its own accord, and the deep exhale you let out only strains your mending ribs a tiny bit. You give a weak shake of your head, eyes closing.

"Not that one this time."

"Eh?"

"Mother. As in Sachiko."

You hear a little agitated noise in response.

"What about her?"

"I was thinking too hard. Imagining if she thought about me often or not…"

"….." Ryuko shifts in place, recentering her weight awkwardly.

 _Say something, please…_ you silently beg, though you know the response is guaranteed to not be reassuring. But your girl would never sugarcoat the truth from you like so many others would, and that's a comfort in and of itself. _Imouto…_

"Sats... the self-centered bitch barely even thought about _me_ and I was right there. I'ont even wanna know how little she… you…" Her arms wind around your shouders tight as if shielding you, and you can feel her heartbeat thumping harder where your back is pressed against her chest. The remainder of her words come out slurred together in a rush, like hot coals rolling off her tongue, burning her mouth. "Her opinions were never worth shit, soon as she made the decisions she made, as far as I'm concerned. Good fuckin' riddance. True colors bled through the second she walked away from you."

You feel more tension now as she tries to sniff less conspicuously, to make it seem like she's unaffected. You didn't mean to touch a raw nerve. Softly you take one of her hands, threading your own fingers between hers one by one; sweaty palm slipping over sweaty palm. Her lips press against the bared skin of your shoulder and she breathes hard, trying to get a hold of herself, and you pick up your entwined hands to bring to your own mouth.

" _Imouto._ " You mouth against her long-scarred knuckles.

"Satsuki I swear you're never gonna be abandoned like that again, I, I—fuck, I promise! I promise you!"

The air feels thick entering your lungs and you have to swallow once, twice, three times before your voice will come; if your hand weren't so occupied you're positive it would be shaking. You feel the callouses on the sides of her fingers, taste the sweat on her skin, kiss each one while you collect your thoughts to order into words.

"Those… dumb ass bitches, neither of them deserved to be your mom. They let you down so hard, neesan! It's not fair at all!" Every other word breaks, hardly any air behind the movements of her mouth, but you can hear, you can feel. With each pause another piece of your heart breaks.

"You speak as though I'm the only one to be let down." You hide your face in her hand, lips on the center of her palm, counting each pulse of her blood that you feel beneath them.

"That's different! I don't need any…" she trails off, unable to stand behind the statement long enough to even finish her sentence. "Hmph."

She already knows there's no convincing you of that. Her stubbornness draws your mouth into the faintest beginnings of a smirk, much as it hurts your heart and soul that she's become this way, was _forced_ to grow this hard shell, to not rely on anyone.

"You don't have to fend for yourself any longer, not all alone." You rest your free hand on her knee where it's propped up beside you, circling the perimeter of a fading bruise. " _Ryuko._ I cannot express how strongly I wished for you to be here, for me to love and care for. Even if you have to tell yourself you're just humoring my desire here, I want for you to let me do so."

"Tch… not even fair." You can hear the grin in her voice. "I don't even got that plausible deniability when the tables are turned. How do I convince you to let _me_ tend to ya?"

"I've been allowing you to care for me for the last week and a half, Ryuko. Surely this counts for something."

" _Allow_ , as if you were in any shape to get back up…"

"Spare my pride today, imouto."

"Okay, okay." You feel her kiss the back of your head and rest there, a quiet sigh blowing against your hair. The two of you recline there for enough time that your heart rates drop below normal and you almost could fall back asleep; gravity pulling you down into her body, sinking into her warmth. Her scent, her breath, the little noises she makes; it all surrounds you and feels like a dream, like someone else's reality. The life of a Kiryuin Satsuki you don't know yet. Maybe _Matoi_ Satsuki, this is how _she_ lives her life. Perhaps this is the first leg of your journey to becoming her. If this is a taste of the new normal, you haven't a single complaint.

Battle-weary as you are still, for the first time in your life you can see the light growing brighter at the end of the tunnel, shining intense and unmistakable for anything else. Not a dreadful color spectrum blinding you, but the warm glow of the sun guiding you forward, thawing your carefully-preserved heart that you'd kept frozen for so long you were almost positive it had become frostburnt beyond help.

"Sats," her voice is sleepy and scratchy, so sweet and welcome in your ear even if her breath smells faintly like Sriracha and eggs. "Let's make this Day One, officially, you know? As our little two-person family together."

"Day One." You repeat in a whisper, feeling the pact being made in your very soul as though it's actively being etched into stone. The air is misty outside your window, the sunlight reaching in and catching in the condensation dotting and dripping down the windowpanes. It feels like what the morning of a perfect Day One should be, in theory.

"Day One of really really starting to put all this shit behind us, and just focusing on takin' care of each other, picking up all the slack they left us to deal with. Can we do that, neesan? Can today be like, our jumping off point?"

"Mhm…" Your waterline grows heavy and you know if you blink, actual tears will fall, but… that's' what Ryuko is here for, now. You're allowed to let them flow, and you don't have to wipe them away yourself. You want so much to jump with her, start anew. What is stopping you? If nothing on earth could hold you back from seeing your goals through to the end before, why is this any different? If death could motivate you, why can't life?

She gently nudges the inside of your arm, tickling you softly, lightening your heart. "On board?"

"Very much so." Tilting your head back to look up at her is a challenge but you can somewhat make out the black and red of her bangs, the curve of her face, however blurry she is without your glasses on or contacts in she's still strikingly beautiful. Suddenly you want to flip yourself over and kiss her jaw, her cheeks, her browbone, her _lips_ ; your own fragile ribs and fractured pelvis be damned… but you resist. When you're healed and well, you can lavish her with affection until she can't take it anymore, until she knows just how much you cherish her.

"I never want to let you feel loneliness again, imouto. I won't neglect your heart as she did. I promise."

"Oh jeez…" Her sniff is louder this time and she doesn't try to subdue it. She hugs you as close as she can without putting strain on your injuries, telling you everything you need to know, perhaps better than she can with her words in this moment. "You neither, alright? No burden's yours to shoulder alone, neesan."

You hug back, lining up your forearms with hers, tilting your head and baring more of her neck for her to nuzzle into.

Matoi Satsuki knows this bliss every day of her life, only better. Matoi Satsuki doesn't think about her parents except when absolutely necessary, like when filling out visa applications or background checks, and then she never calls them to mind again. She lists her sister as her emergency contact on all official paperwork. Her stomach doesn't flip when visiting an onsen, and her heart doesn't race with dread at the first sign of bad news, whenever someone tells her "goodbye," whenever, whenever, whenever...

 _"You had a little sister... but she's no more, musume, and soon I won't be either-"_

No.

 _"I'm sorry, dear Satsuki-chama, your mother was traveling home on the freeway and-"_

No.

 _Lady Kiryuin requests your presence at home tonight; a private car is on its way to collect you from the Academy in thirty minutes._

No.

 _But it was all for nothing… the more your followers resist, the more they nourish the COVERS as energy sources… and before long, even your little sister will return to me!_

Never, ever.

Matoi Satsuki is an woman unscathed by trauma and tragedy; and she only feels love and bliss in her heart. She wants for nothing; for she holds all she could ever need in her own two arms.


End file.
